Study Leave
by KarkatWillNotMarryYou
Summary: Brain attempts to turn himself and Pinky human, because world domination will be easier that way. He could become President, or some shit. It goes a little wrong. (human au fic. sort of.)
1. theme tune goes here

Bump.

Jesus _fuck_.

If that's not what he outwardly said, that was roughly the emotion Pinky was feeling. Is "jesus fuck" even an emotion? God knows. He's too full of concussion to care.

"I have told you before about the hazards of that mouse wheel."

Pinky sits himself up and rubs the back of his head. "Poit." And then, "Brain, I. Don't see why it does that. Do you think it doesn't like me?"

"It's a mouse wheel. It's completely devoid of emotion."

"Gosh, I do _love_ your sense of humour."

That was intended sarcastically. As usual, his cagemate does not pick up on it. It makes him wonder if Brain even has the capacity to process humour, sometimes. Or maybe he just doesn't get Pinky's own brand?

He decides it's probably irrelevant for now.

"Anyway." says Brain, and Pinky realises he zoned out for quite a worrying amount of time, "Once you're quite done with throwing yourself off the exercise wheel-"

Pinky huffs. "I _fell_."

"Falling off the exercise wheel. That's not important. What is important are the matters we have to attend to."

Pinky shrugs. Nonchalance is a talent of his. "Don't worry, Brain. I already watered the plants."

"I-"

Brain looks somewhere between exasperated and surprised.

"Pinky, we don't _have_ any plants."

"Oh."

An awkward silence.

"I don't know what I watered, then."

Brain mutters something under his breath; Pinky's not entirely sure what. Some kind of thinly veiled insult, maybe? It's hard to tell. He figures he needs to react anyway, judging by the vibes his roommate is giving him, and raises his eyebrows.

"Are you going to get the ice?"

Brain, in the meantime, struts over to the cage door and unlocks it again. As usual, it swings wide open. He vaguely wonders if this lab even has staff. And hell, do they try? Are they aware their mice just wander all over the place doing whatever the hell they feel like? Such is a mystery.

"Ice for what." This makes him stop, and pause, for a moment.

"For that burn, Brain. Whatever you said it was probably _meant _to be scalding."

Narf. Brain ignores this particular brand of humour (copyright Tumblr®.com, trademark 2014) and gracefully jumps down the table stairs, managing not to fall, and mouses his way over to a corner. Pinky's descent is somewhat less graceful (ie, falling), and he ends up flopping right next to Brain, landing on his stomach with a none too pleased expression on his face.

"I seem to recall warning you about the stairs, as well."

"Bro."

"What?"

"Nothing, Brain." Somehow he feels like this joke would fall flat. "Go on. What were you going to show me?"

Brain decides to let this particular obscure joke go, and pulls his associate along with him, before uncovering a machine in the corner, which previously had a blanket on top of it.

"Behold."

"It's a very nice blanket, Brain. I like the colour."

God, Brain thinks, it's almost like he does this deliberately. And little does Brain know, he does. He's never really concerned himself with it enough to figure it out, or if he had, the cause. It was just something he sort of lived with. (If anything, it was due to his own attitude. Pinky's personal brand of retort against Brain's constant insults and narcissism was... well, making his life as difficult as possible.)

(Brain has also never been very good at sarcasm. Unfortunately, sarcasm is what 80% of Pinky's humour runs on.)

"I am referring to what was under the blanket."

Pinky studies it carefully. "It looks like a vacuum cleaner."

"_For the_-" Brain stops, then, mid expletive, and pauses. "Oh. Yes. You're right, actually. It does."

Pinky opens his mouth.

"No, we are not cleaning."

Pinky shuts his mouth again.

"And no, you can't wear an apron."

"But I'd look so nice, Brain. Like those tv shows where they have the cafes."

"I hate to break it to you, my friend, but your life is not Tokyo Mew Mew." And ending the discussion with that tidbit of information, Brain hops closer to the machine (not literally. He is a distinguished man of science and he is going to bloody act like it) and gestures to it, or rather, a small button on the side.

"Are you aware of what this machine does, Pinky?"

"Well, we both know the answer to that, Brain. You honestly can't expect me to know if you don't tell me."

Which was a good point, admittedly.

"Can you guess?"

"Well I already guessed vacuum cleaner. And then you started spouting off about maid cafés."

Also true, though a little harder to admit. Brain thinks about bringing up the rubber pants joke in retaliation, and decides against it.

"Then allow me to explain."

"I'm all ears, Brain. Well. About thirty percent ear, technically." He pauses, taps the side of his head, idly. "If I was a hundred percent ear, that would be horrifying, haha!"

This was succeeded by a small, quiet "Narf."

"You would be a lot easier to deal with." Brain pauses for dramatic, and possible comedic, effect. "As I was saying. To put it lightly, this machine is capable of completely reprogramming DNA."

"Lovely."

"Was that sarcasm?" He's never quite sure.

"No."

"Good."

"But. But why are you trying to reprogram our DNA in the first place? And what does that have to do with the blanket?"

"The blanket was covering up the machine."

"Aww, it's shy."

"Pinky, please just shut up." There's a pause, while Pinky complies with this, before Brain continues. "We are altering our DNA temporarily. To make our goal of taking over the world a little easier. After all, nobody's going to listen to a pair of little lab mice."

Pinky droops. "Oh, Brain, you really _are_ going to make me one hundred percent ear."

"I'm tempted. But no, that is not the intended use." It could be a side effect, but he doesn't dwell on this. "What I _am_ trying to do, however, is turn us both human."

Another pause.

"Why."

"Because as I said, nobody is going to listen to a bunch of lab mice. "

Pinky frowns. "It's worked well enough so far."

"Well, evidently not, Pinky, because we're not _there yet_-"

"Oh, and who's fault is _that_."

And Brain doesn't have an answer to this.

Pinky continues, oblivious. "Apart from _which_, Brain, what exactly do you want to accomplish with that? Once it's done, I mean, or. Or how, really."

"I'll phrase it simply for you. It's September. The presidential elections are next month." And there's that wry smile again. "Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Well, I think so, Brain." Pinky squints, in mock thought, tapping the side of his face absent mindedly again. "But I'm fairly certain Kanye West was at least _implying_ that she was a gold digger."

Brain doesn't find it funny, apparently.

"I'm confiscating your radio."

"Oh come _on_."

"I don't intend to back down on that." And again, the point is quickly dismissed. "What I was going to say was that once the machine has it's desired effect, I run for President."

"Poit. Um. Good idea, Brain, but-"

"What." Why does he insist on doing this every time? Brain chooses not to dwell on the fact that Pinky is usually right because that cancels out the entire point.

Pinky is still frowning. "Um. America's not exactly the world, though."

"Well, it is to most Americans." Brain shrugs. "Besides, I'll just meddle endlessly in the business of other countries until I end up ruling the whole planet anyway. That tends to be the usual strategy."

"You've thought this through."

"I don't like the implication that I don't generally think my plans through, Pinky."

"Erm. Shirley Temple."

Brain's face reddens considerably.

"Be quiet."

There was also the hacky-sack sack-kicker thing, but he puts that out of his mind. "I. I don't see any reason why we shouldn't start now. We need to spend a lot of time building up the public to trust us. I'll also have to acquire a large amount of money from somewhere."

"But why?"

"To get into Congress." Brain gives the machine a shove, and it trundles pitifully into the middle of the room, away from any furniture and possible opportunity for mistakes. "I hope you're ready."

Pinky's really not. He stares at the machine and thinks privately that he has very little choice.

"As I'll ever be."


	2. this is that part

Oh god, the light is far too bright.

Brain blinks, and fidgets, before it suddenly occurs to him that he's laying on the floor. It then occurs to him that he seems to be laying on a lot more floor than usual.

Oh god, it _worked_.

Pulling himself up off the floor, he smiles a little at the prospect, before taking a look around. The machine appears to be smoking and making odd noises, and this wipes the smile clean off his face. Shit. That's going to be hard to fix. Never mind. He can worry about that when he's President.

He seems to be a lot taller than he was previously, and a quick inspection of the top of his head reveals that yes, he does have hair. It's longer than he would like, but he can fix that later. All in all, cause for a loud, triumphant "Yes!"

Wait.

It also occurs to Brain, about ten seconds after his momentary celebration, that his voice is higher than he remembers. And definitely higher than it should be. And also slightly crackly. And a small niggling feeling of doubt is starting to build in his mind, and fuels a desire to get to a mirror as quickly as possible.

So after looking around and seeing nothing of the sort, Brain takes it upon himself to leave the room and pad down the hallway. If any of the lab assistants were to appear, they probably wouldn't be particularly pleased with a naked man wandering along the hallways, but he can't bring himself to care about that. Clothes were kind of unimportant right now. He'd grab something on the way out.

The next room he comes to has a mirror in it, he can see it from the door, but it's not pointed at him, so he enters the room and continues over at an appropriate angle to look at himself.

Brain does exactly this, of course, when he's in the right position, and proceeds to

...stand still for approximately three seconds in total, stunned silence. And then he screams. Very, very loudly.

The person staring back at him for all of these three seconds is a (rather naked) human male, standing at what he'd estimate at about five foot three. Obviously the albinism stuck, and floppy, surprisingly clean white hair frames his face, and his eyes are a sort of red pink colour. He's used to that.

What he's _not_ used to is the fact that the person in his reflection can't be any older than about fourteen.

Fuck, no, not even fourteen, he looks about twelve. And this is pretty much cause for a total emotional breakdown. Hence the screaming. Said screaming is still too high. And wavery. Oh god, is he hitting puberty? He's middle aged. This is ridiculous.

Eventually, the screaming stops, and the sheer effort (or perhaps shock?) sends him backwards into a sitting position, and Brain stares at his new child self for a good ten more seconds before shuffling a bit closer to the mirror and reaching out to touch it.

Okay. That's definitely him. Haha. Don't panic. Don't. Don't _panic_

He's panicking.

Of course, panicking involves more screaming, but this is more of a groan than a scream, because his throat is starting to hurt. This is apparently enough to summon company, though, and he can hear footsteps. Someone's running towards him, and Brain's not sure if he's smart enough to think of an excuse in time.

Shit, shit shit. The fuck does he say now? "I'm actually one of your lab mice, until like. Three seconds ago. I turned myself human to aid in my life long conquest to take over the world."

(It worked all the other times, he supposes. People were dumb like that. Though he supposes that technically he's a people now.)

(Person. _Person._ He's losing it.)

He sees a lab coat, and opens his mouth to explain, but then he looks a little more and the words die in his throat, because he can also see white hair and overly pale skin and someone's incredibly irritating psuedo British accent saying "Zort. Gosh, Brain, you sure look different."

The first thing out of his mouth is "How did you know it was me?" It's a valid question. He was pretty convinced Pinky would need some prompting. Evidently he still has the art of surprises down to a T.

"Well, nobody quite screams like you, Brain. All high and squealy. And vaguely feminine."

Thank you, Pinky, esteem booster extraordinare.

"R. Right, well. Um. As you can see, uh. The plan didn't exactly work. So our first priority is to fix our machine, turn ourselves back, and I suppose then we should call it a day. I'm not particularly enjoying being this tall."

"Well, actually, Brain, I think-"

"_What_." Because he's pissed, and Pinky is the best person to take it out on if you're pissed. "What could _possibly_ be more important?"

A small pause, before Pinky continues. "...Maybe clothes?"

Oh.

"Oh."

There's a pause, and Brain finds himself staring at his feet. (God, these things are fucking weird.)

"...Yes. Yes, no, you're right. My...apologies. By all means, if you know where to-"

Something's being draped over his shoulders.

"Poit."

Oh, it's a lab coat. Brain pulls it on properly and buttons it up, and vaguely wonders why he didn't think of this sooner. God damn, he's losing his touch.

"...Thank you. It's appreciated."

"You're welcome."

This is an incredibly awkward situation, and Brain wants out. So he simply nods, and tries not to let his face heat up because he doesn't have fur to hide it now, and mumbles something about fixing his machine as he heads for the door.

It takes him a moment to remember where he was going, but he manages, and Pinky follows him with the air that leads Brain to believe his friend doesn't have quite the same sense of direction that he does.

"Do you remember where you're going, by any chance?"

His only response is a sad sounding "...narf."

Brain sighs. "Pinky, you've lived here your entire _life_."

"But. But Brain. Everything looks different when you're five foot taller."

Which is true, and understandable, so Brain decides not to mention it further, turning the doorknob to their ro

FUCK.

"...The door is locked." Suddenly his throat feels tight. "We can't get in. We have been locked out of our own room."

"Poit. Don't cry, Brain."

"I'm not _crying_. I am irritated. There's a difference." A small huff, and he manages to compose himself. "Right, well then, I suppose-"

"Excuse me."

Their interrupter is a small woman in her early twenties. She has frizzy dark hair (an equally dark hand carding through it, indicating nervousness) and a mole on the right side of her face. Brain swallows nervously.

"...Yes?"

"How in the world did you two get in here? This area isn't open to the public."

Brain is pretty sure his blood just froze.

"Um-"

"Ah, never mind." She flips her hand. "Middle school, right? See 'em all over this place. Seems to be a fascination for them." There's a pause, there. "But listen, while you're here, have you two little boys seen any loose mice? We have these... lab mice, but they seem to have gone missing. I don't know how, in a _locked cage_..." The woman seems pretty exasperated, but cuts herself off. "Anyway. Two little mice. Albino ones- hey, aww, kind of like you!"

He's pretty sure there's a political word for how insensitive that comment would have been to actual children. Brain manages a weak "...no."

"Oh, shoot. My head's comin' off for this. Thanks anyway, sweethearts. Glad you're having a good school trip or whatever." So saying, the woman wanders away.

"...did we even plan a school trip? I better ask Bill. Why he does these things without my permission Lord only knows..."

She keeps muttering to herself as she walks off, and Pinky and Brain stare after her.

"Oh, Brain. I hope that lady finds her mice soon. How do they get out of those cages?"

Brain grits his teeth. No, now's not the time to get angry. "Pinky. She means us."

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh_. And because of that, we now have to resort to plan B."

He'd better try and lighten the mood at least a little. "Does it involve actual bees?"

"_No_."

"There's no need to get _stroppy_." A huff. "What does it involve, then?"

Brain sighs again.

"...Adapting."


End file.
